


Russian Roulette

by Nocturnal_Daydreams



Category: Markiplier Egos, Who Killed Markiplier, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Gen, How Markiplier died, It's kinda unclear so either, Missing Scene, Murder, Murder-Suicide, Possession, Russian Roulette, Suicide, making amends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 11:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15907344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nocturnal_Daydreams/pseuds/Nocturnal_Daydreams
Summary: A WKM missing scene fic - when the drinks start running The Colonel and The Detective play Russian Roulette... But they aren't the only ones.And what could double or nothing possibly mean in a game so dangerous?





	Russian Roulette

The Colonel looked about the room. It was wonderful, just as it had always been. God, did he need a drink. The waiter – the nervous bumblebee that he was – rushed straight up to offer him a drink. He was very thankful and mumbled his thanks as he grabbed two glasses and drank one immediately and set it back down on the silver plate. He really wasn’t sure why he had come, it wasn’t like everything could be fixed with Markiplier. While the Colonel used his alias to be closer, Markiplier did it to distance, although after everything that had happened maybe the Colonel didn’t blame him for that at least. His eyes caught Damien and he remembered exactly why he had come.

Damien had so been looking forward to it. He had begged the Colonel to accept the invite as soon as Celine had let slip that he had received one. It had completely isolated Damien to be without his two truest friends and had come to a truce regarding him a while before. For who was he to step in the way of the wants of his sister. So both agreed to treat Damien the same but avoid the subject of each other. It had done greatness for Damien and he had become The Mayor. While The Colonel and Markiplier fought the one thing that they agreed upon was that was a role he was designed for. He was a peacekeeper – a kind, honest, respected and respectable man. Many towns wouldn’t have needed that, this town however needed nothing more.

The Mayor shot him a smile. How he liked calling him that. His brother-in-law, The Mayor.

He watched Markiplier give the speech and downed his drink during the end. He didn’t really want to listen to Mark’s inane ramblings when he looked and sounded so ‘la-di-dah’. Fame had got to Mark and it was what had drove Celine from him – if he could only see it. He sneaked around to the kitchen and quickly lifted a bottle of bubbly from there. The chef was quick to notice it but had let it slip for ‘Old Times Sake’. He took sips straight from the bottle. Ah, that was a lot better. Mark encouraged them to get wasted.

At one point the attorney looked at Mark’s drink and back at Mark as the Colonel noted.

“I’ve had more than a few myself, young friend. Dutch courage don’t you know. I will be drinking much more presently once you have all caught up.” He replied with an elegance he always put on at parties. The Colonel rolled his eyes and took a large swig from the bottle in his hand. Mark in response only smiled and raised his glass before grabbing an hors d'oeuvre and eating it. The district attorney gave a smile that seemed genuine and for once The Colonel remembered he was here for amends by himself and for whatever reason Mark had invited him. Tonight was an outreaching hand and The Colonel was determined to grab it. He had been in the army long enough to know a foolish decision and ignoring the man he had grown up on an important night of his life was one such foolish decision. Instead with a genuine half smile and nodded at the attorney and Mark both. Both seem pleased by this.

The room seemed to spin and time seemed to zoom past as he got more drunk and in the blink of an eye they were in a betting room with a poker table. They had been keen players all 3 of them in their youth and was the only practice they had brought with them through time, although they all played separately now. Some things just hadn’t been the same without the trio. He drank away the pain that ebbed into that thought and picked up his cards and prepared for everyone to take their turn.

With almost a full bottle down – when did that happen? He swore he had half… With almost a full bottle down he realised it had been a while he drank at this pace, the house was the weird thing it always was and this detective was exceedingly good at cards. Which was ironic because he didn’t consider him an exceedingly good detective. One more thing, that the district attorney definitely did not have as high a tolerance as them. It seemed sober they may be good at cards but still feeling awkward about the whole situation he had resolved to leave with the dawn and head back to his beautiful wife and throw himself at her mercy for being away for so long. She’d probably laugh, he hoped so, he loved that laugh. He had been distracted so had been surprised when Mark went all in. He held in the urge to give him a stern talking to and resolved to fold and go to the toilets. He didn’t remember going or in fact coming back but knew he had been inside the toilets as he got back. In his short change the district attorney, with help from the butler was currently winning. They looked like they were enjoying themselves and he liked that but the smug look made him want to wipe the floor with them. He would do just that.

Between endless drinks and merging games he had begun to win, lose and was nearly on equal turf again. Such began the keg stand, the beer pong, the drunk card games and importantly Russian Roulette. His favourite game. For a long time after the war he would play with anyone that came along. The detective downed his shot and insisted, the room blurred and for once everything made sense whether he questioned it or not which meant he really must be incredibly drunk. Off it span and a shot fired, blank. He knew it was blank before the trigger came fully back, he just knew. Then he aimed at himself and did the same, it was very quick and he practically giggled as he heard the trigger. Damien threw a card at him and pointedly rolled his eyes, “Oi, you. Take it outside if we’re playing extreme sports.”

Time passed on like a spinning roulette wheel and sometime around 1 am the DA had a shot and hit the floor like a tonne of bricks. Though barely standing himself Damien insisted on helping them to bed then joining one more game and heading to his own room, almost tripping down the hall. The chef took his leave at night to go have drinks with old George and bring him his dinner and the butler took the time while their attention was elsewhere to head off himself to bed before they harassed him more. After almost half an hour the detective insisted on going to find the butler but both Markiplier and The Colonel found him asleep on the stairs on the second floor barely 10 steps away from his own designated room. They both grabbed him and - like they did when they were kids with whoever out the trio fell asleep first – flung him onto the bed. It wasn’t until now that The Colonel noted that for the last while he had actually been getting on with Markiplier. It was almost like old times. However, with how absolutely plastered he was he barely took notice. Markiplier however was as well-bred sophisticated as he was earlier in the night. The Colonel almost mentioned it but if he was going to be honest with himself he didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“What now, Markiplier?” He slurred.

“I have some brandy old George used to have. The one we used to try and nick as kids. Want some, Colonel?”

“That’s what my friends call me. It’s Mr Barnhum to anyone else.” He mumbled but nodded all the same.

They headed downstairs and Mark had a hold of his elbow as The Colonel swayed. He replied, “This night is to even the score, the playing field if you will. We’re about to crack open the one thing we never got away with as kids, I hope you’ll find it in you to let the bridge begin to build with being called Colonel.”

“Fine, Markiplier.” He chuckled dryly, “Markiplier and Colonel now.. How we’ve grown.”

Markiplier’s laugh seemed genuine but something had been off about him for a while now. He’d been too stubborn at first and now he barely had the sobriety to stand solitary. The house blurred around them and he saw the stone wall of the stairs to the cellar as he got down. It had a funny habit of happening that, The Colonel chuckled at it and Markiplier gave him a questioning look to which The Colonel only laughed harder. They sat on the table and began sipping the strong brandy.

After half an hour or half a day, The Colonel wasn’t sure or didn’t care Mark suggested a game. The bottle was surprisingly full for 2 people drinking it but The Colonel didn’t notice and didn’t question.

“What?””

“A game to put all this behind us. It’d be so cool, come on, Colonel. Go on.”

“Fine, you’re playing to my humour, old boy, so I’ll humour you. What game?”

“Russain Roulette. Just like you and the detective played.” Markiplier seemed positively giddy, not taking the bottle this time.

In response, The Colonel laughed. A great hearty laugh then sipped another bit of brandy, “No. Dear boy, no.”

“Why?”

“For one, how are we to trust that the game isn’t rigged?”

“Rigged?”

“Yeah, Markiplier. How are you to trust me and how am I to trust you, not to make sure that the bullets going straight for that barrel?” He laughed again.

“Get this. For mine, you spin, then I spin. So then the person whose turn it is, can be sure they haven’t been cheated and they can be watched by the other player to assure they aren’t cheating… Foolproof.” He smiled, victoriously.

“Bully! The downside there is I won’t do it.” The Colonel rolled his eyes and took a sip again.

“Come on, we used to be brothers in arms Colonel. We grew together, we owe each other something but there’s a lot of anger. This way we get it out.”

He made a point… maybe. Maybe he had drunk too much…

“What are the rules then? How is this to make amends? What are the playing stakes?”

“Rules are spin each and immediate shot. One each and never again. This is the only of George’s brandy I ever bought so it should be fair the game is played only once too. Consider the odds as double or nothing. Double means one of us will be dead and the other a killer and must make amends with the family for everything they couldn’t for each other. Nothing means that everything, I mean everything, must be forgiven. Everything from our past must be erased if the shot is empty.”

There had been a lot behind them. Both sounded like intense things and truth be told The Colonel often felt guilty for falling for his foster-sibling’s spouse and the other things he had done so while he had his own anger from their years just after they had been brothers-in-arms he didn’t have to feel so crap about himself. This was an escape though. In one shot either him and Markiplier would be on level ground again or it wouldn’t be his problem anymore. Markiplier would do the same and the trio could be together. He didn’t think about Markiplier’s shot. Anyone with a higher understanding of the mansion would have known that he didn’t think of it because the house didn’t want him to think of that. After a few more sips each he agreed. The deep, intense want to be forgiven by the boy he grew up with and to find the will to do the same on the flip of a game was too hard to pass up.

Colonel put down his gun on the table and they sat at either end, in their seats, finally.

The gun and the brandy sat in the middle of the table and Markiplier added a penny to the middle line.

“Flip?”

It was Colonel first. He took a good swig as he watched Markiplier place it in and spin it in and locked it in. They swapped the gun and the brandy and Colonel span it and locked it in and placed it straight to his head. Forgiveness or not his problem anymore his mind repeated any more. For once he couldn’t figure it out. He always had a feeling before he shot but now, gun to his temple… he couldn’t be sure. He clicked the safety off his revolver.

If it was the only barrel with a shot in he wouldn’t have a chance to say it later, “Mark.”

He gave a curt nod and pretended not to notice the importance addressing Mark by his name implied as his finger pressed on the trigger. A quiet click responded. Empty. Nothing. Mark however had the reaction he did when The Colonel first played it; ready for a heart attack. He took the barrel out and gave it a spin once again, locked it in and handed it to Mark who kept the bottle one last time to give a long gulp and a sigh before handing it over. Maybe had the Colonel been sober or Damien been there, maybe someone would have realised that that had been the first real drink, real swallow of liquid that night. Then again maybe not. He brought out the barrel and gave it a look a spin and as The Colonel drank, stopped it and locked it in. The Colonel put the drink down as Mark brought the gun up.

For the first time since suggesting it or in the whole night or even in fact… for the first time in a long time – Mark looked hesitant. He took the safety off.

“William.”

His word was barely a breath and there was something there that showed the Mark he was before. The one they were actually friends with, the one Celine had fallen for. Something had been wrong and different with Mark for longer than anyone had noticed. His voice for the first time that night, was his own.

William knew it as he looked at him and his eyes for a moment coloured red and blue. Just a moment but he saw it. He was sure. As sure as he was that the moment the eyes coloured the old Mark was gone again and as sure as he was that that round was loaded. The new Mark smirked.

It was effectively sobering.

Many things happened in the 2 seconds that lasted an eternity. A voice in William’s brain shouted that Mark was too far gone, whatever had changed him forever now. At the same time he stood and clambered over the table to push the gun out the way. The bottle broke. The colour of red and blue took over Mark momentarily. William pushed the gun… just not far enough. The shot rang in his ears. The smirk plastered permanently on Mark’s face. Blood was everywhere. The body slumped and William tried to scream. It must have been the shock because the scream stuck in his throat as if to strangle him. He hadn’t done this. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. It was either him or reconciliation. Why hadn’t he thought of Mark? Now he had lost his brother-in-arms and the game. One was dead, one a killer. That’s what was said. His hand had been on Mark’s, from the handle to the trigger as he had pushed it back. He killed Mark. What was there to do now?

It felt like a nightmare and The Colonel wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t. What to do now was to clean the body and the gun, put him to bed and hope it was the nightmare it seemed.

As he finished cleaning he heard a voice in his head like Mark’s. Like new Mark’s.

“You nearly made me miss, nitwit.”

The laughter that ruptured from The Colonel was unstable and he turned back to pick him up and take him to bed. He’d barely took a few steps in the dark before he was at Mark’s bed. He placed him down and stood over him a moment before walking. Walking was good. He needed a walk. He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Not for a long, long time. William wondered as he walked if you could go an eternity without sleep and just what it would do to you.


End file.
